William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. read more
He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
They say we are Almost as like as eggs. -The Winter's Tale. Act i. Sc. 2.
They say we are Almost as like as eggs. -The Winter's Tale. Act i. Sc. 2.
Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.
Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.
Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. -As You Like It. Act read more
Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 4.
What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds read more
The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
I am an ass indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have
served him from the read more
I am an ass indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have
served him from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have
nothing at his hands for my service but blows. When I am cold,
he heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me with
beating.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy read more
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, fetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatched with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lasslorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air--the queen o' th' sky,
Whose wat-ry arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain.
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
